


Atypical

by bunnyangel



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Attraction, Buck Gives Him One, Buddie Advent 2020, Cold Weather, Eddie Diaz Needs a Hug (9-1-1 TV), Eddie Diaz is Bad at Feelings (9-1-1 TV), Exhaustion, Feelings, Introspection, M/M, POV Evan "Buck" Buckley, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28007025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyangel/pseuds/bunnyangel
Summary: Honestly, only one of them can be dramatic at a time in this relationship and it's usually him. Eddie is probably overdue one.Day 11 of the I'm Your Buddie Discord 2020 Advent event. Prompt: Footsteps In Snow
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 103
Collections: 25 (More) Days Of Buddie





	Atypical

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the beta (and reassurance), [Marcia Elena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena).

It takes him more than a minute to register the lack of a key scraping a lock; no squeaking hinges that signal entry into warmth and comfort and fast food and mediocre beer. It takes a little bit more to work through the hazy after-shift daze to force his eyes open--only to see what seems to be a stricken and terrified expression on Eddie's face, whose eyes widen even further in what seems to be panic--and then he's blinking tiredly at the empty space in front of him.

Adrenaline and alarm start churning sluggishly through his veins as he straightens, head turning to follow and mouth opening, but he's immediately distracted by how spectacular the view is as it strides away, trim waist and thick thighs obscured only by the way his breath puffs into the air and the falling snow.

It's when Eddie disappears around the corner that he even remembers to call out, and by then it's too late. His brow furrows and he sags back against the front of Eddie's house, because--man, Eddie just gets hotter, how is that possible, shouldn't he be used to this by now and--what the fuck just happened?

His limbs are still shaky with exhaustion and his neck feels stiff enough to break, much less support the weight of his head, and now it feels colder than it was a second ago. It might just be his imagination, though, that the wind blowing past bites just a little harder and the chill sinks a little bit further into his bones.

For a long second, he debates just flopping onto the front porch to wait for Eddie to work out whatever he needs. The weight of his eyelids are heavy; the keys in his pocket are even heavier.

But that stricken expression lingers.

He pushes off the wall and slaps his cheeks a little even if the sting barely does anything, jaw yawing with a crack; if he's swaying slightly, well, it's been a long shift.

He blinks a little, trawling the memory of their entire shift to the last few days. There were no particularly bad calls, even with children involved. Only a few fatalities, but he doesn't remember any strong reactions from Eddie. Surely it's not him.

Eddie was the normal sort of tired-quiet on the drive home. It _can't_ be him.

It's been a while since they've disagreed seriously over anything, even longer since Eddie's turned away from him and nearly a year since he'd exploded from pent up rage in the middle of a grocery store in front of all their coworkers while picking up masochistic hobbies. Honestly, only one of them can be dramatic at a time in this relationship and it's usually him. Eddie is probably overdue one.

But...seriously, not from anything he has or hasn't done, right? They've both been doing so much better at communicating, so why? Has Eddie just been off all week and he just hadn't noticed?

He frowns and groans just a little, rubbing at his forehead.

It's possible that Eddie is _also_ just overly exhausted and his emotions are catching up to him. It _had_ been a few crazy days. A few inches of snow on and off had meant miles and miles of disaster.

Maybe Buck is infringing on his personal space. The thought makes something unpleasant churn deep in his belly.

It's their first night without Christopher in days. He loves that kid with every fiber of his being, but he was really looking forward to just wilting on the couch like an overwrought dishrag with Eddie's really just so-so beer no matter how much he raves about it and a really good nap and someone who _gets it_ and now...

Maybe Eddie _had_ needed some alone time to decompress. It still doesn't explain the look that had been directed at him.

Maybe he should stop overthinking this to death in circles and just go after him (as if there were any other option).

He casts another forlorn look at the front door to the Diaz house and hops slowly down off the porch.

He exhales, stretching and letting his head fall back to roll across his shoulders in an effort to dispel the tension that had steadily settled there.

The clouds are as swollen and ominous as ever in the plum colored sky. It hadn't started that way when they left the station, but the snow is coming down fast now. It's for sure atypical of Los Angeles weather--almost apocalyptic, if he were prone to dramatics (which he isn't _that_ much, thank you), but well, it's still 2020 so it's a little terrible that none of it is even really surprising.

There's no doubt the next shift is also going to be disastrous, but that's for tomorrow's Buck. Today's Buck has Eddie to worry about.

Another snowflake lands on his cheek, a brief flare of cold that fades quickly into wet as he drops his head to stare at the single, shallow trail of footsteps.

Exhaling, and taking another moment to watch his breath dissolve into the air, he shoves freezing hands into his pockets and trudges forwards.

Sometimes he thinks this is all his life consists of: people walking away from him, just footsteps in the snow that he so desperately tries to catch up with and no one waiting at the end. He resolutely _doesn't_ think about the _actual_ time he'd had to run through snow, desperately looking for _any_ hint of footprints and finding only blood before he'd found _her_.

They'd been so lucky, then. He's not lucky often.

And anyway, Eddie had been different from the start.

It's not like he'd ever forget how dumbstruck he'd been, or the only slightly embarrassing shift that followed because he hadn't _known_.

He still sometimes doesn't know.

He pulls his jacket collar up further around his ears, hunches down and continues walking, boots sliding now that he's hurrying. The wind picks up, howling as though it senses his mood. His jacket is too thin for what should have been a quick trip between the station and home.

Eddie's home.

Maybe even his home, though...maybe not, despite what he likes to think.

He looks at the ground as he slides again, slowing down and taking extra care to place his feet onto those footprints, relishing the tiny, crisp crunches of his foot aligning perfectly with Eddie's. He can't help the small, silly smile that curls his lips.

Eddie had been different from the start and he's somehow more than okay following Eddie wherever he might go, even though they walk side by side more often than not.

The trail leads him to the other corner of the block, and Eddie a lonely figure in black crouching on the ground with a fist against his mouth.

He would sigh, if he could feel his lungs. The air trickles down his windpipe in little frozen shards, spreading and catching, a dense weight in his chest. Or maybe that's just Eddie.

"Hey."

He valiantly keeps his eyes on the back of that not quite regulation haircut and off the way the taut muscle of Eddie's back shifts beneath his _really_ not weather appropriate LAFD shirt and the really nice curve of his ass.

Valiantly, honestly, because the man is just so fi--

He is _extra_ tired right now.

He takes another deep breath from his too tight chest, and then reaches out to take the fist pressing too hard against a mouth that is already turning too purple. He's only half sure it won't be yanked away as he uncurls those fingers and threads them into his.

He nearly startles back when Eddie stands with a jerk and--glares at him. Full on.

And...okay. So it is something he did. It’s...unsurprising, really.

He goes to drop Eddie's hand, to step back, to draw away, but Eddie's grip tightens instead, something like grim determination crossing his face, and really--what's that about? Either way, something small and bright flutters in his chest.

His eyes drop helplessly to their linked fingers. He's still a little amazed that he gets to have this sometimes, as rare as it is.

"I'm not sure why you're angry," he starts, and lifts his eyes to meet--yup, still glaring. "You're going to have to use your words, Diaz."

The words hang in the air between them, drifting to the ground and slowly becoming buried beneath the layers of snow; and it's funny, how this weather fully embodies their relationship: atypical, possibly apocalyptic and full of layers he's barely prepared for or knows how to navigate.

Although, maybe it's just atypical for him. It's still rather novel, the experience of having people he can trust with his life; trusting that _this_ man won't leave him behind. His partner. His brother. His best friend. His _something_ beyond all that. This slow, slow dance they're engaged in is something he doesn't _really_ know, even if the steps are familiar.

He's...being maudlin again

He's exhausted.

It's cold.

Whatever little warmth in him leeches out at the uncertainty, the fear, the _absolute anguish_ that flicker across Eddie's face before submerging again just as fast. It has him frozen more solid than the weather. He swallows, blinking a little as he reminds himself it’s still probably not his fault.

He still doesn't know the reasoning behind those expressions, or the, by all accounts, extreme and slightly masochistic action that has them standing out here in sub-optimal temperatures. He does know that if he pushes right now, Eddie will fold. It's untenable because Eddie is apparently, for some reason, about to break and Buck doesn't want to be the one to break him. Even if he just wants to kiss him and keep that look off of his face, forever if possible.

Eddie draws closer.

He doesn't move, doesn't breathe until Eddie's forehead lands on his shoulder. He squeezes the too cold hand he has, and brings his free one to cover the exposed skin of Eddie's neck. He doesn't know so many things, but he knows he's still wanted here and maybe that's enough.

For a minute, they stand. He watches the snow fall and it's beautiful. With Eddie, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts, but maybe because it's a slow hypothermic death and--he pauses, blinking. They probably really need to go inside.

They're both too tired for this.

"It's cold, Eddie," he says softly, stroking the soft hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck with his thumb. "Let's take this home, okay? Maybe take a long nap, eat something." Drink something. "We'll figure it out together." Whatever this is.

Something relaxes the tense, painful set of Eddie's shoulders. He nods, a shaky exhale escaping. "Sorry, I'm...sorry."

"It's okay."

And it _will_ be okay, because Eddie is worth untangling whatever mess he's feeling.

Together, they follow their footsteps home.

**Author's Note:**

> Eddie: I'm...in love. With Buck. *freaks out*  
> Buck: *slightly delirious* Eddie is so pretty, why is he so sad, is it me, oh, it's not me, it'll be okay, baby--
> 
> or something like that ;D


End file.
